


Pentamerous: Ross and Demelza in five parts

by rainpuddle13



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types, poldark
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Poldark Modern AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainpuddle13/pseuds/rainpuddle13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Ross met her he was bored out of his mind. </p><p>{based on the Poldark + college modern au meme by princessofpoldark on tumblr}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the estate of Winston Graham, various publishers including but not limited to Pan Macmillan and the BBC. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction.
> 
>  **Author’s Note:** This fic was inspired by this [post on Princessofpoldark’s Tumblr](http://princessofpoldark.tumblr.com/post/124099346131/au-meme-poldark-college-ross-poldark-comes-from) with the prompt: _Ross Poldark comes from an upper class family and is the heir to a vast mining fortune. Between bouts of partying and drinking he attends Cambridge University. While at the library he meets Demelza, a working class, quick witted music student._
> 
> Thank you to Nokomis for the second set of eyes on this.
> 
> Please do not archive elsewhere without permission.

The first time Ross met her he was bored out of his mind.

And he’d had more than ample opportunities for boredom over the span of his life, but nothing approached sitting in the UL with his cousin Francis and quasi-arch nemeses George Warleggan. 

He missed New York. The year spent studying abroad had given him a new perspective on life. A lot had changed. He had grown up for one. It was so different from anything he’d experienced before after finally being on his own without friends or family around. Naturally his father footed the tab for a nice flat near Columbia University and allowed him a generous stipend each month so he wouldn’t starve. Ross was pretty sure that was his mother’s doing.

Second, the ethereal Elizabeth Chynoweth had cast him off in favor of Francis, even after all the promises she’d made about waiting forever for him. The daily Skyping had lasted about six weeks before she started getting “busy” and the time dwindled until one day she simply stopped answering. To say he was devastated when he returned home to find an invitation to her engagement party laying on the marble table in the foyer was an understatement. 

It wasn’t like her parents were ever going to approve of him despite his father’s mercurial climb to the very top of the Cornish mining industry. The second son had out done the first. Nothing was going to change the fact that Ross was the eldest son of the black sheep of the Poldark dynasty. Both father and son had a reputation for being indifferent to the niceties of polite society. 

His mother gave him a much needed kick in the arse and sent him back to school to finish his course in economics so he could help run the Carnmore Copper Company. His father wasn’t getting any younger and Claude Anthony was still too young to be of help. She was always good for that, his mam.

She also tried her hardest to make him realize that if Elizabeth was so fickle then he would do well to be done with her. It was easier said than done though.

Which is exactly how he found himself in the library on a rainy Monday spring afternoon with two people he did not care much for at all.

“I just don’t understand how an esteemed university such as this one can admit such riff-raff into its hallowed halls,” bemoaned George.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Francis chimed in immediately, always the parrot to anything George had to say. Originality had never been his strong suit.

“What say you, Ross?”

He was pulled from his ruminations of where to hide the bodies once he’d murdered the lot of them to see a young woman with unruly bright red hair, neatly but shabby dressed trundling past with a heavy cart of books towards the stacks at the far end of the building.

“I say she’s every right to be here as anyone else who earned their way in,” Ross countered. He did so enjoy being contrary to George especially since it was common knowledge that his father had to buy his admission with a more than generous donation.

“I think,” George said, ignoring him and steepling his fingers, “it would be amusing to have a dog fight. It’s been a while.” 

That got Francis’s interest immediately. “A dog fight you say? What are the stakes?”

“To the winner, a bottle of my father’s finest Scotch whisky. The thirty year old stuff. The losers must streak the next rugby match.”

“And the terms?” 

“Bring the poorest, homeliest chav you can find to a card party at my house on tomorrow night.”

“That’s a very short turnabout.”

“All the more fun. I’ll text John and a few of the others.”

Francis’s eyes lingered in the direction the chit had gone a few minutes before. 

“I call dibs on her,” George said immediately to put the fair Poldark off the scent of easy prey. “Are you in, Ross?”

There were no words to describe how disgusted he was feeling at that moment with his cousin. “I believe I’m late for rowing practice,” he answered tightly, pushing back from the table to stalk off.

He didn’t know what made him do it, to search the girl out, but he circled around the long way to look for her amongst the long rows of book stacks. He’d participated in more than his fair share of dog fights in the past and won more often than not, but he was growing tired of all the drinking and partying and nothingness.

She was there, shelving books in the Greek classics section with earbuds in, listening classical music on a cheap MP3 player. He could see just a peek of pale skin on her lower back when she stretched up to place a book on the top shelf. 

“Oh!” the girl gasped when she discovered him standing there, immediately pulling one earbud out. “Do you need help finding a book?”

“No,” he responded with a shake of his head. “I came to warn you that a wanker named George is going to ask you to a party tomorrow night. Don’t go.”

She narrowed blue eyes at him. “What?”

“Just don’t do it if you have any self-respect.”

“Okay.” 

It was obvious from look on her face she didn’t know what to make of him. “Alright.”

He walked away feeling decent for a change. He’d done all that he could do. The rest was up to her.


	2. Two Days

Two days later Ross met her again on an early Wednesday morning, but he didn’t have a say when classes were scheduled so there he was queuing up at 8 a.m. at Benet’s to get coffee along with too many other people.

He was still hungover like a dog. Mark Daniels and his brother Paul had made the long trip up to Cambridge. They came up on Monday afternoon and had left that morning. It was good to see his brothers from another mother. He missed them terribly. Their visit also made him miss home. He used to hate that the family estate was so isolated on the north Cornish coast with only three very small villages and Trenwith within walking distance, but now, not so much.

“The usual, sur?”

Ross looked up from his phone to scowl at the till girl for being ungodly cheerful only be greeted with the sight of the same lovely redhead from the library the previous week. The dog fight had been a raging success he’d been giddily told by Francis at some point very late last night. He had won with a poor bird from Blackpool with bad teeth and thick glasses. No gingers this time around and mores the pity according to his cousin. They were always the most fun.

“Oh.”

A bright smile lit up her face and it nearly knocked him on his arse. “Large coffee, black, and a Jammie Dodger?”

“What?” Ross was confused that his mind had just been read. Was he that predictable?

“It’s what you always have, except on Fridays. You have an orange chocolate no whip and carrot cake then because you have more time,” she supplied helpfully.

“The usual then.” He was completely discombobulated and he didn’t like it. “De-mel-za,” he read her name tag as he handed over his card for her to swipe. “Unusual name.”

“Awful name you mean, but what can one do, but get on with it? It’s supposed to be old Celtic or some such. I don’t rightly know.”

“I’m sorry,” Ross said, unable to help himself, “just how long have you worked here?”

She handed over his coffee. “Since the beginning of the fall term, Ross.”

Her use of his name gave him a little start. “That long? I never noticed.”

“You rarely look up from your phone,” she said with a shrug.

“When do you work?”

“Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings.”

“Good to know.”

The bloke in queue behind him gave him a not so friendly nudge. “Chat up the bird on your own time, mate!”

Ross reluctantly left with his coffee and pastry, hangover forgotten in light of the revelation that he’d been seeing this girl for months and hadn’t once noticed her.


	3. Three Weeks

They met again three weeks later quite by accident when he was taking advantage of a warm and sunny afternoon to do some reading on the grassy fields of Parker’s Place. Francis had mentioned something about football a little later. Ross was always up for a bit of sport even if his ankle was still a bit dodgy after he broke it during a run in with a taxi one snowy New York evening January last. The long scar on the left side of his face was courtesy the kerb.

He just about to nod off reading about John Maynard Keynes and the theory of macroeconomics when he was nearly trampled to death by a large, gangly black dog who was very interested in the remnants of his chicken and lo mein.

“Garrick! No! Bad dog!” 

Ross looked up from the dog to a very out of breath Demelza. “Yours I presume?”

“Judas!” she cried while trying to wrangle the overgrown puppy. “I’m so sorry! You’d think I don’t feed him, but I do!”

“It’s alright. I was finished with it anyway. I’ve just been too lazy to put it in the bin.” He thought better of trying to snatch the takeaway container from Garrick since he was fond of his fingers.

She finally got her hand under the dog’s collar. “I’m so sorry! He broke his leash and took off after a squirrel.” 

“Care to join me?” He gestured to the expanse of grass beside him in the dappled sunlight. “I’m about done with studying for the day.”

“What the hell,” she said good-naturedly as she plopped down beside him and Garrick immediately followed suit. “I’ve got nothing else better to do this afternoon.”

“Ross Poldark,” he stated, holding out his right hand to her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly.”

She took his hand. “Demelza Carne. Likewise.”

“So where are you from?”

“Illogan originally, but I’ve spent the past almost ten years in Truro.”

“No fucking way! I’m from near Sawle. Nampara.”

“So a dark Poldark.”

“What do you know about that?”

“Everyone in Cornwall knows about the fair and the dark Poldarks.”

He had no response to that and he hated to talk about family politics so he changed the subject. “So what are you doing so far from home?”

“Studying music.”

“Economics.” He shoved his text book into his leather bag. “History or instrument?”

“Piano,” she answered. 

“You must be very talented.”

Demelza ducked her head as her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink and he thought it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “My professors seem to say so, but I don’t quite believe them.”

“I think they’d know what they were about,” he said with a laugh.

“You’d think, but I’m still not sure!” She laughed with him.

He stopped to stare at her and something deep within him shifted and the words just came spilling out of his mouth: “God, you’re beautiful.”

“What?”

He looked at her so she could not be mistaken of his words. “I said: you’re beautiful.”

“No one’s ever told me that before.”

“Idiots, all of them.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon walking Garrick around Cambridge and getting to know one another better. Ross told her what he hoped were amusing stories of his childhood career as a petty delinquent and about his time in New York. She listened with rapt attention. He just wanted to make her laugh and laugh. The sound was a balm to his soul.

There wasn’t a day after that Ross did not see her, especially after she finally opened up about her own childhood: her mother’s death when she was eight; trying to care for six younger brothers; her miner father’s drunken abuse; going to live with different foster families in Truro. Her therapist thought music would help her and she took piano lessons. She was a natural.

The one thing that bothered Ross the most was seeing how much Demelza longed for stability and family. She never said as much, but he could tell in every little thing she did from her neat and cozy little one room flat to her tiny flower pot garden spoke it for her. 

It took him only a week to fall completely and utterly in love with her. Her steak and kidney pie might have had a little something to do with it. He ignored Francis and so-called friends when they made snide remarks when it was discovered he was seeing the lass from the library. Although Ross wasn’t responsible for what he would do to Ruth Teague if she said one more disparaging word, bitter bint that she was.

Demelza moved into his three bedroom terraced house on Emery Street not long after. It was then something was finally done with the back garden.


	4. Four Months

Ross took Demelza home to meet his parents four months after they started dating. It took some effort to get her to agree to make the trip. For some reason she was sure that his mother would send her to eat with the servants in the kitchen.

“What if they don’t like me?” she groaned as the car turned up the drive to the house.

“Nonsense.” He hugged tight against his side. “Trust me on this. They will love you as much as I do.”

If she had any more doubts she kept them to herself when the grey stone house half covered in ivy with a front yard full of wind battered hollyhocks came into view. Nampara had been in the Poldark family for generations, dating back to the 1760s. It had been abandoned in the early 1900s when the mining industry was on its knees and had stood vacant until his father reclaimed it when he married. The rambling house had been renovated and then added onto as the need arose over the years. There was nothing stately or graceful about the place, but was home to Ross.

“I love it,” she squealed as she got out of the car, not waiting for Jud to come around and open the door for her. “It’s nothing like I expected!”

He stood beside her, taking her hand in a show of support as she took it all in. Ross desperately wanted this meeting to go well.

His parents and brother were waiting to greet them near the garden entrance. Ross was a little nervous about Demelza’s reaction to his baby brother. She’d been warned beforehand that Claude Anthony was young and very enthusiastic about everything since making a full recovery from leukemia two years ago, but Ross would always remember how Elizabeth had a tried to avoid him when she could. Just the thought of it still made him angry.

“Welcome! I’m so pleased you could come, Demelza.” His tall, stately mother greeted them warmly, hugging him first then Demelza. “I hope you’re not too exhausted after your long trip.”

“Oh, no, Mrs Poldark,” Demelza answered politely. She squeezed his fingers tightly and he gave her a nod of approval.

His mother clucked her tongue. “None of this Mrs Poldark business, my lovely, call me Grace please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What I did I just say?” 

“Yes, Grace?”

“That’s better. Now come meet my husband and my other son.”

There was no question that his father approved of his choice if the smug little nod was any indication. Apparently they had a type: tall, red-headed, salt of the earth women who knew their own minds. His playboy father had shocked his family at age thirty-six by marrying a twenty year old village girl by the name of Grace Vennor and promptly produced a son the following year. They’d been happily married going on twenty-five years. Joshua Poldark was never one for conventions and neither was his oldest son.

Ross found himself having to vie for his girlfriend’s attention over the course of the week. If his mother didn’t have Demelza in the kitchen teaching her how to cook all of his favorite foods (apparently he looked thin), his brother was engaging her in teaching him how to play the piano in the library. His cousin Verity was able to visit several times and a new friendship of kindred spirits was born. 

Then there was his father trying to flirt with her right in front of him. That was just not on as far as Ross was concerned. Demelza felt otherwise and flirted right back.

She had insisted they spent their last day in Cornwall on the beach and his family was more than happy to oblige her request. They picnicked on the cliffs before heading down to the shore to comb for seashells. Claude Anthony and Demelza had managed to lose their shoes so they could splash in the cold surf while he strolled arm-in-arm with his mother safely above the tide mark. 

“It seems you might some competition for Demelza’s affections, my darling.”

“From my father or my brother?” He gave his mother a skeptical look.

“Both, but mostly your brother. Your father already taken.”

“That hasn’t stopped him from trying to chat her up.”

“I like her,” his mother said, turning the conversation and looking up at him with a smile that lit up her entire being. 

“I do too,” he answered with a smile of his own.

“I hope it’s more than like.”

“Do you?”

She tsked him. “You’re so like your father, Ross.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s a good thing if you’ve found the right woman.”

He gave what she’d said a thought for a moment. “I think I have.”

“Good,” she nearly giggled and squeezed his arm, “Demelza is a keeper.”

“I know, Mam. I know.” 

And he did. 

They quietly married the week following their return to Cambridge and stayed there until Demelza finished her degree course.


	5. Five Years

His wife made her debut with the London Symphony Orchestra at the Royal Albert Hall at a charity concert celebrating the music of Ludwig van Beethoven on the evening of their fifth wedding anniversary. 

Which is how he found himself all trussed up in a tuxedo ensconced in a box next to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge with his parents, brother, and almost four year old daughter. All of his plans for a ridiculously romantic getaway went straight out the window when Demelza received the invitation to perform the piano interlude of the evening. 

He thought she’d never looked more beautiful than she did when she walked out onto the stage wearing a simple black sleeveless Dior sheath evening dress and her unruly copper red curls done up in an elegant bun. She’d worn the Venetian ruby and pearl broach he’d gifted her with that morning on thin black ribbon tied around her slender neck. It was hardly noticeable that she was near on six months forward with their second child.

It had been long since he handed Julia off to his parents to be put to bed back at the hotel. The after party was still going strong despite the very late or very early hour depending on one’s view. Ross was content to remain on the periphery and allow his wife to be the center of attention. It was after all her night and she’d more than earned the adulations. 

“I was beginning to wonder if you remembered that you’ve a husband,” he teased when she finally was able to disentangle herself from her throng of admirers and sought refuge in his arms, laying her head against his chest and closing her eyes.

“Oh, Ross,” she laughed. “You’re very hard to forget.”

“I mean, if you want to run away with Sir Hugh Bodrugan, I’m sure we could come to terms.”

“I did nothing to encourage him!”

“Or John Treneglos, although his wife might have something to say on that front.”

Demelza snorted with heartfelt derision. “As if Ruth wouldn’t throw him over in a second if she thought she could get her claws into you.”

“She stands no chance.” He had been fending off that woman’s advances ever since he’d mistakenly taken pity on her at a dance years ago. His marriage to Demelza had not been a deterrent to Ruth’s ambitions in his direction. Her husband had made little secret of his admiration of Demelza and had once gone as far as to make the suggestion of swapping wives for the evening. The offer had been flatly refused using every ounce of restraint Ross had.

“That’s good to know.”

He tipped her chin up to assess how she was holding up with dark shadows under her clear blue eyes telling the story. It’d been a long day. “You look tired, my love.”

“I am,” she assured him. “I can sleep later. The night’s too brilliant to give up just yet.”

“You’re not leaving my side again tonight.”

And she didn’t leave him much to her would be suitors’ chagrin.

“Tell me, Ross, how did I do? I didn’t embarrass you did I?” she asked later as sunlight was just starting to streak the skies over London in pinks and purples. They were curled up together on a lounge chair out on the balcony as the city started to come awake around them.

“You were amazing,” he answered honestly. “Wonderful. Lovely. Perfect.”

“I was that worried I’d show you up.”

He brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Never.” 

Someday she would stop worrying about what other people thought of her, of them, the heir to a mining dynasty and his village wife. It would take a little courage on her part, but he could see it in her now that they were venturing out in the world more after several years of simple living in Cambridge. Tonight had been a grand entrance for her into society and she slayed them all as he knew she would.

“There is just one thing I want to know.”

“Tell me!”

“I just want to know if you’re happy?” he asked.

“I’m that happy, Ross,” she said softly, yawning. “That happy. Now take me to bed.”


End file.
